love is like a stubborn youth
by piratesmiley
Summary: The long-winded story of the meeting, hiring, working relationship, courting, and comedy goldmine that is Tony Stark's relationship with Pepper Potts. Pepperony. [Cross-posted to AO3]


SPOILERS for Iron Man 3. This is a _slight_ AU; the sequence/events of the movies are the same but the story of their meeting is a bit different.

Cross-posted to AO3.

Disclaimer: I do not own Iron Man. Unfortunately.

* * *

After sitting in silence for half an hour (seriously, half an hour; she sighed and tapped her fingers and rolled her eyes but she did _wait_, so clearly she was the most patient human being to ever grace this earth; stupid, possibly, but still patient as hell), she starts to look around.

Of course, Tony has locked up everything of real value – his various sketches and schematics for unpatented tech, legal documents, unpublished research. He even left a few decoy files marked in red _Top Secret_ and CLASSIFIED to try and draw out the candidates who were here as corporate spies. He isn't worried about this girl poking around his stuff though. It is a seamless fabrication. There is nothing real in this room.

Except.

Yeah, he shouldn't have left it there. This isn't fucking _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_. He isn't going to find the one good kid worthy of the empire.

Paperbacks – worn, older editions, but not the valuable kind. Just well-used. He watches the woman (_girl_, really, she was probably younger than he was) linger over them. Orwell's _1984_. The_ Wonderful Wizard of Oz. _And _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland._ She flips open the cover of _1984_. He can't see on the monitor, but he knows what it says (perfect cursive, old fashioned and elegant):

_Property of Maria Carbonell_

The girl (what was her name again, oh, _Virginia_, _yikes_) flips it closed, looking pensive. Tony watches as she squints a bit, lost in thought. Suddenly, she puts the book back on the desk, replacing it in the same formation he had left it in, and grins wildly.

Her eyes find the security camera. "Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain," she says, and he can hear it clear as day, but he still can't believe it.

And then she starts organizing the files on his desk.

Like, _for real._ Sorting them in terms of priority and placing them in the most logical positions for maximum efficiency.

He is so disturbed that he is out of his chair before he's realized he stood up.

And she doesn't even jump when he pushes open the door.

"Did I pass a test or are you just incredibly late?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he sniffs. She doesn't smile, and his balking makes it clear that he isn't leaving the doorway until she moves away from the desk. She sits in her chair. He rounds the desk.

"It's a code, right?" she asks. "The books? Because no genius can go without letting everyone know they're a genius. This wasn't very sophisticated though. You must've just thought it up on a whim."

He pauses, taking in her attitude. He isn't sure if he should be insulted by the way she treats him or not. Something about her makes Tony believe he deserves whatever she throws at him. He almost feels bashful. "It's pretty sophisticated for most of the people who walk through here." He drops into his seat.

"Still. I don't know what it tells you about me. That I figured it out, I mean." She shrugs.

He doesn't know either. She guessed correctly, but it really had been just a whim (a whim his therapist would have a field day with, but no, that guy's an idiot, better not make him happy) and he'd never intended for anyone to notice. Honestly, the only thing he had expected from today was to cleverly circumvent Obie's request that he interview people and to watch overly dolled up twenty-somethings get huffy and impatient and storm out.

"How did you figure it out?"

"Because you're Tony Stark; why would you even get out of bed for this if you know no one will last longer than a few weeks?"

Is that…_disdain_ in her voice? It's almost as if she doesn't find it endlessly sexy and awesome.

He squints. "You don't seem to be one of my groupies."

"I am not," she says, with a graceful, conceding nod.

"Why do you even want this job then?"

"I don't," she admits. "I work in Accounting now. My boss submitted my name because she thinks I deserve a raise."

"I would say she must like you a lot, but she sent you to be eaten alive here."

"I can see that." But she's smiling a little bit, and her freckles are obnoxiously cutesy.

"So…what is it then?"

"What?"

"The alleged code." He tries to sound bored; but he was born with a scientist's intrigue, and it seeps through.

She's still smiling a little. "Big Brother is watching. Ignore the man behind the curtain."

"And this?" He lifts up _Alice in Wonderland._

"I can't decide if it's _off with your head_ or _down the rabbit hole_."

"Little bit of both. You went to Stanford?"

She seems thrown off by the sudden question. He continues to eye her resume (which felt weird, but whatever, he was pretty sure they were both playing grown up here).

"Um. Yes."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-three."

He does the math in his head. "You graduated early?"

"A year. I had advanced credits from high school."

"You've worked here since you got out of college?"

"Yes."

She still seems slightly confused. He frowns, unsure of what to do next. Technically he's never been on a job interview in his life, but he's seen movies, and he feels like he should take an actual stab at it. Just this once. Just for kicks, and no other reason.

"What would you, uh, bring to the position if you were, uh, hired?" And it sounds as stupid coming out of his mouth as he imagined it would in his head.

Her eyes grow wide. "Wait, are you serious?"

"What?"

"I didn't expect to actually have a shot at this. I wasn't even really treating it like an interview."

"Well, neither was I, so—"

"I can do better!" The cool, upper-handed Virginia starts to slip away, and he can almost see her for the nervous girl that she is. He suppresses a grin. _That's more like it._

"Mmm, no, we wouldn't want that."

"I didn't think you would actually consider me."

"Why not?"

"Honestly? Because I'm not…um…a bimbo?"

"Maybe I'm done with bimbos." He replays those words in his head, and almost chokes on them. Violently. He scrambles to find a more plausible excuse. "I mean, maybe I need someone at least halfway competent to handle my, uh, business affairs. And whatnot."

She pauses, sizing him up. He tries not to flinch. "I'm at least halfway competent," she says, arching an eyebrow.

"Good then. I think that's all the questions I have." And suddenly they're both standing and they're _shaking hands_ like_ goddamn adults _and his is sweaty and_ hers is not_ and then she's left the room and he only has one idea about what to do next.

"Happy, tell all the other candidates to go home. I'm done."

Happy, whose skills were really limited to limo-driving and _not_ personal-assistant-ing, but is still picking up the slack because Tony refused to talk to anyone else, breathes a sigh of relief. "Did you find someone?"

Tony frowns. "I think so."

* * *

The next day, he pays a visit to Accounting.

Considering he hasn't visited R&D or any of the science labs (he ranks SI's divisions based on their ability to make things explode, a scale on which Accounting is _invisible_) in quite some time, his presence there is shocking, to say the least.

He's not exactly sure why he's there. He hopes to fly in under the radar; he's wearing the patented celebrity-in-hiding look of casual clothes, sunglasses, and baseball cap but the unsurprising design flaw of _not being a disguise_ means that it doesn't work. So all eyes are on him as he tries to coolly sneak over to her desk.

Well, all eyes except for hers.

Mercifully, she looks up when he actually gets to her desk. She looks a little confused, but she lets him speak first.

And it turns into a staring contest. Something in her expression makes him forget to speak, which is actually not the sort of thing you want to have around you when you're trying to, like, _run a company._ Actually, maybe he shouldn't hire her.

"Hi," he chokes out.

"Hi," she says. "Is there something I can help you with?"

She looks completely fine. She's not breathing heavily, she's not leaning over so he can see down her shirt, she hasn't tried to touch him yet, she hasn't flipped her hair, she hasn't blushed, she hasn't stammered, she hasn't offered to blow him in the bathroom.

Actually, maybe he absolutely should hire her.

"Do you want to have sex with me?"

And it's not actually an offer; it's an honest question.

To his satisfaction, she pinks. At least he knows she's not a robot.

"No thank you?"

"Is it because you have a boyfriend or because you like girls? It doesn't make a difference to me; I just want to know."

(For the record, he thinks this might be the least douchebag-y he's ever been towards a girl. But she's a _very confusing creature_ and he feels it necessary to tread lightly in this department.)

"Um…neither," she says, and he doesn't think her eyes can get any wider.

"What is it, then?" He's not trying to push; he's just honestly fascinated.

"I don't know you," she squeaks.

He wants to say _what does that matter_. He also wants to say _you're the only person who's ever said that to me and meant it_.

He wants to run. "I have to go."

"Okay."

He ignores the eyes watching him and high-tails it out of there.

What the _fuck_ was that?

* * *

_A List of Facts by Anthony Edward Stark, genius, child prodigy, and CEO of Stark Industries (transcribed by JARVIS, brilliant artificial intelligence and mild pain in the ass):_

1. Virginia Potts is a young woman who: was born in Massachusetts; went to Stanford; has two dead parents; works in Accounting.

2. Virginia Potts is not one of my groupies, and thusly does not want to sleep with me.

3. She also doesn't want this job.

4. I want her to do this job.

5. It's not that I want to sleep with her more or less than anyone else. I just want her to be around for longer than three weeks.

6. I've known her less than seventy-two hours.

7. She thinks I'm weird. Probably.

8. The thing is, she had the power in the beginning. Well, _I_ had the power in the beginning. I was watching. But then she took the power because she figured out that I was watching, and she noticed Mom's books, and that caught me off-guard. And then I got all weird around her. But then she lost some of the power because she freaked out when I actually started interviewing her. But I didn't _gain_ that power back because she lost it. And then I lost even more because I dragged my ass to godforsaken _Accounting_ and got inappropriate with her.

[_Tell me you didn't, sir_.]

9. No, I mean—_no_. Not inappropriate in the fun way. Anyway, shut up.

10. She completely baffles me.

11. I _really_ want her to do this job.

12. She doesn't know me.

[_Is that the end of the list, sir?_]

* * *

Tony calls Obadiah (begrudgingly, because he tries his best not to do anything that Obadiah asks him to) and gives him Virginia's name. Obie calls her in for a follow-up interview the next day. Tony tries to resist the urge to call him immediately afterwards to see how it went. He fails.

"She was charming, intelligent, qualified, and poised. I'm surprised you picked her, Tony."

He knows he is supposed to feel insulted, but he really can't.

"I'm going to hire her." Tony Stark doesn't ask for permission.

"I think that's a wise decision, Tony."

He summons her.

"This has been a pretty thorough interview process for a two-week gig," she starts, and it's half a joke, but for some reason she still has that power.

"Yeah, so all of that the other day was kind of weird. When I came down to talk to you. …Can we forget that I said all of that stuff?" And again, he's deferring to her. When did he start asking for permission?

She smiles that same little smile from the first day. "Sure."

And he just kind of sits there, relieved.

"Was there anything else?"

"Uh. Right." He studies the crumpled copy of her resume that he has been staring at for the last three days. He comes up empty. "No?"

"Okay?" she says, and she's confused again. She stands.

"You don't have any parents," he blurts.

Her face doesn't change. "I have parents. They're just dead."

"Me too."

She nods.

"That's all," he dismisses.

She leaves slowly.

* * *

He calls her literally seconds after she leaves his office.

"So obviously you got the job."

Can you hear smiling? He thinks she's smiling.

"Thank you," she says.

"But I'm not calling you _Virginia_."

"What's wrong with Virginia?" She coats her words with the exact amount of levity needed to bring the humor from their first conversation back. And _that_ is why she's perfect.

"Nothing, I'm sure it's a lovely New England state, but _really_, no. Don't you have a nickname? Come on, it'll be worse if you let me think up something myself."

She sighs.

"My friends in college called me Pepper." And he can tell by the end of the sentence that she has no idea why she said those words out loud.

"Oh. _My god_. That is perfect." He hears her sigh again. "Seriously, that is perfect for you."

"I really don't like it all that much," she says, but it's too late.

"How can you not like it? It's perfect."

"How would you like it if I called you Asshole all the time? Because that's pretty perfect for you." And he can tell from her voice that by the end of that sentence she regretted saying those words out loud.

He doesn't give her the satisfaction of his laughter. "Um, ouch, I'm your _boss_ now. That's just rude."

"I haven't said yes yet."

"_Whatever_," he snorts. "Anyway, Pepper's a much cuter name than Asshole. So, hmm, yeah, I think we're sticking with it."

"If you insist."

"Oh, I do. See you Monday, Pepper."

* * *

Her first day is hellish.

There's no one to train Pepper besides Tony himself, and Tony has no idea what information to give her. She's never done this before, and he's never done this before sincerely. He tells her as much. "We'll just make it up as we go along."

She looks nervous at that. He leads her through the mansion.

"Kitchen's through there, living room here," he says, and he ignores her wide eyes. Sometimes he forgets that other people are normal and don't come from ridiculous amounts of wealth.

They clip up the steps together. He gestures like a flight attendant pointing out safety exits. "My room, guest rooms, bathrooms, your office." They arrive at the door to the last one.

"Do I need an office here?" She asks, uncomfortable with so much _benefit_.

"What do you mean?"

"Won't we be at SI most of the time?"

He shrugs. "It's yours if you want it." He jerks his head towards the elevator. "This way." They enter and he hits B.

It opens up to his workshop. She takes it all in, wide-eyed again. "This is where I'll be most of the time. I do pretty much all of my work down here. I don't like working at SI headquarters…" he trails off, trying to explain through willpower rather than actual words.

"You don't play well with others?" she guesses, smirking, and of course she is correct.

"No, I don't _work _well with others. I play with others just fine," he retorts, and he adds a leer for good measure. She rolls her eyes.

He shows her the 'bots (at this point, Dummy is just an idea) and introduces her to JARVIS (and she almost jumps ten feet in the air at the disembodied voice). He wonders if she finds the way he lives strange. He doesn't ask.

"Yeah, that's everything, I guess," he says, rubbing his neck.

"Okay," she says, and then she has a lip between her teeth, which he assumes to be her deep thinking face. "So…what do you want me to do now?"

He freezes. Uh oh. She needs, like, _actual _work to do. Fuck. "Um," he says.

* * *

They are sitting on the couch in the living room, each of them perched on the edge, facing the phone. Obadiah is still laughing. It's been a few minutes.

Finally, the chortling stops. "Tony, what did you think Mrs. Roberts did?"

Mrs. Roberts was the absolutely ancient secretary he had inherited from his father. "I thought you paid her to yell at me and make me drink tea," he says bitterly, and Pepper smiles.

"Miss Potts is responsible for keeping your schedule, attending meetings with you and taking notes, and generally just helping you out around the workshop and in the office. Everything else, all the little things you can figure out together. The most important thing, dear, is that you make sure he actually _goes _to his meetings."

Tony rolls his eyes at this.

"Yes, sir," Pepper says.

"And if you want, you can absolutely ask my PA any questions you may have."

"I appreciate that, sir," Pepper says.

"Quit calling him _sir_," Tony whispers tauntingly, nudging her knee with his. "It's _we-eird._"

She nudges him back.

* * *

JARVIS uploads Tony's schedule to her laptop, and changes the contact number for the CEO's office to Pepper's (brand, ass-spanking new) cell phone, and gives her all the access codes to the house as well as the password to the office email account.

As soon as the change is official, Tony's face goes dark. "Wait for it," he says ominously.

She does.

Her phone makes the double-beep signaling a voicemail uninterruptedly for three minutes. When the beeping stops, she looks up at him.

"What?"

He expects horror. Instead, she smiles her little smile as she presses the phone to her ear and starts to type on her computer. "Go away. I'm doing work now."

He can hear the sound of her greeting as he hops down the stairs to the workshop.

* * *

Her first day in civilization with him (which is actually Thursday, because the first three days of the week are spent exhausting every trick she has to get him out of the workshop), he introduces her to every person they meet – Happy, the security guards, the doorman at SI, the several million random employees whose names she's going to need to learn _like yesterday,_ and even the takeout delivery guy who brings his lunch – and says the exact same thing.

"This is my new assistant, Pepper. _She's a keeper._"

Pepper just sighs.

* * *

At the end of her first week (which is Sunday, because weekends no longer exist), there's a banner that says WELCOME HOME (only because, he promises, that's the only one he had on hand, leftover from when one of his friends got back from a tour in Afghanistan, and not at all because they both strongly suspect that this place is going to become her makeshift dwelling, at least for a while) and _three_ garishly-colored party horns sticking jauntily out of his mouth; and he blows them so loudly that she drops the takeout she was sent to get, but the pizza was salvageable, so whatever; and they eat it out of the box on the floor, her _very grown-up_ heels kicked off, her stocking-clad legs tucked under her, her phone all the way turned off for the last time for the next twelve-ish years, big smile on her face.

* * *

But it's not like he's going to any department meetings.

* * *

"_Coffee_."

"You're kind of a baby in the mornings, Mr. Stark." She says it with a face, because they're playing grown-ups right now.

"Rude."

"What did you do before there was someone here to get you coffee?"

"I got the 'bots to do it."

"And why can't they do it now?"

"Because they kept spilling it on themselves and it would get into their wiring and they would short-circuit and make these little chirpy dying sounds and it was very, very sad."

"You'd think being a genius you could circumvent that problem."

"Yes, well, I'm very busy getting out of my meetings for today."

"I've rescheduled the board meeting twice already. I think they're getting annoyed that someone with the authority and expertise of a baby penguin is calling the shots here."

"I'm not a baby penguin!"

"I was talking about me."

"You are a very powerful woman, Miss Potts."

"Shut up. Go to the meeting, please."

"Yes, dear."

* * *

It's the eve of their six-month work-iversary when a shitstorm arises.

They were bantering about something unimportant, just him bothering her for a hamburger while they walked back to his office. He didn't even notice the gang of tight-lipped middle-aged nosy _gossipers_ that they passed by as he said something off-color and she gave him a snort and a shove.

She goes down to the workshop that night looking grave. She tells him what happened – that a few of the other PAs had seen them _just joking around_, that they sat her down and told her it wasn't done that way, that there needed to be a professional distance, that people would assume things about her if she carried on acting so friendly with him, and that can ruin girls' careers if they're not careful, that it can ruin lives. And that they were only saying so to warn her.

When she's through, he is livid. "They're just jealous," he chokes, trying to contain his rage.

She doesn't say anything to that.

"Who cares what other people think; I'm _Tony Stark_. I can do whatever I want."

"_You're_ Tony Stark. I am _not_."

"No, because that would be some serious visual masturbation—"

"See, I think it's saying things like _that_ that they were talking about." There is half a smile there, but it's buried soon enough. "I just think it's time I started acting more…_professionally_."

"I literally _propositioned_ you in front of the entirety of Accounting, and you think _today_ was unprofessional?"

"You didn't proposition me. And I thought you wanted to forget that that happened."

"Whatever."

"I just don't want to make any trouble for myself, Tony. I'm just now getting the hang of this _assisting_ business."

He doesn't care. "I thought we were friends."

And her eyes go wide. "We are," she says, but it's on shaky ground.

He doesn't want to agonize over it; the treatment of this subject is actual torture for him. He tried to force some humor back into it. "Fine. You can be some ridiculous grown-up professional if you want to. But only on weekdays. And only when you're at the office."

She smiles. "Thank you."

They sit in silence for a moment, and it is one of those moments where Pepper forgets just instantaneously that there is work to be done. It is blissful.

But those moments always end. She bumps his shoulder with hers. "Will that be all, Mr. Stark?" She means it to be a joke, playing pretend again. But it almost isn't, anymore.

"That will be all, Miss Potts."

(And from then on, it is _just_ _fractionally_ more difficult to get him to do things.)

* * *

The issue is aggravated when, a few weeks later, Pepper's name is dragged into the tabloids as more than just a momentary mention. The front cover reads _TONY'S NEW FLAME?_ and features a picture of the two of them looking intently at each other (Tony remembers the conversation. He had been asking Pepper to think carefully about how many Poptarts were left in the cabinet, and begging her to go get more) as well as a salacious, unfounded, and hurtful article attacking her supposed man-eating ways, even questioning how she managed to get the job in the first place. For two weeks after that, Pepper is on complete lockdown. She conducts her work in silence. She stays at the office and calls when she needs him to do something. He barely sees a glimpse of her.

But apparently it is as tiring for her as it is lonely for him. At the end of those weeks she turns up at the workshop.

"Maybe, um. Fuck the press." It's the first and only time he has heard her swear. It's well deserved.

"Fuck the press," he agrees.

* * *

It is three years before Tony realizes that Pepper is widely recognized as excellent at her job.

They are at some stupid black-tie event. It is early enough in the evening that Pepper is still there (she would usually just stay for an hour or two to network and make sure Tony fulfilled whatever obligation he was there for, and then opt to leave before the later hours, to remain ignorant of the details of Tony's next conquest), and thusly, Tony isn't that drunk yet. Pepper is talking with someone from the Governor's office, graciously listening to what appeared to be an incredibly boring story. Tony peeks at her from the bar, watching her in her deep green evening dress, having just been left by whomever the fuck he was talking to before. Unfortunately, Tony barely has a moment to himself before Martin Longhorn of Dynamic International sidles up.

Longhorn is a fake-baked, whitened-teethed, untalented hack. He is also the CEO of a smallish ballistics company. He is also a giant prick.

"Tony, how good to see you," the man oozes.

"Martin," Tony responds, purposefully sounding bored.

Martin begins to pitch a merger, the same collaboration he's insisted would be mutually beneficial every time Tony has seen him for the last ten years. Tony's eyes slide back to Pepper, hoping to use mind-control to get her to come over and save him.

Eventually (and quicker than usual) Martin notices that Tony isn't paying attention, and follows his eyes across the room.

"That assistant of yours is quite a firecracker."

Tony squints at the man, refusing to say anything, hoping to use mind-control to make him choke on his martini.

"I won't lie to you, Tony; I offered her a hefty sum to come and work for me. I heard that Hammer did too. A couple other people."

Tony's never had a whole lot of self-restraint, but he musters as much as possible not to punch this asshat in the face.

"You must be breaking _bank_ on her." He drains his drink. "Lucky find."

"Excuse me," Tony mutters, before stalking across the room and stealing his assistant away.

"Rude," Pepper says once he pulls her onto the balcony, away from prying eyes, and it takes him a second to realize she meant way he dismissed whoever she was talking to. Isn't important now.

"Have people been offering you jobs?" He hisses.

She sighs. "Yes, Tony, a few other companies have tried to poach me."

His chest fills with ice-cold dread. "Are you unhappy? Is there something you want me to change, because—"

"_Tony_," she exclaims. She seems baffled at his reaction, but it is a pretty obvious one to him. "I didn't ask for anyone to do this. I told them all that I was perfectly _happy_ with my job and that I had _no interest in leaving_."

The rage within him doesn't leave, but it stops its mad shaking. "You'll tell me if that changes, right? If you're unhappy, we'll fix it. I promise." He wonders if he sounds as desperate as he feels.

"Yes, I promise too."

He relaxes, finally, and instinctively so does she. He realizes that he was way into her personal space and leans back. He thinks for a moment. "Who was first?"

She rolls her eyes. "Hammer."

"He's shorter than me, you know," he says automatically.

She frowns. "What's that got to do with anything?"

He doesn't have an answer to that that doesn't make him sound like a caveman. "Nothing. Just keep that in mind."

She laughs. "Okay."

"I can't believe so many people had the _balls_ to try and steal you from me. Not that you aren't worth stealing," he adds.

"RIght? Who knew I was a steal-worthy assistant?" she smarms, going for the joke.

He doesn't let her have it. "I did."

* * *

Pepper makes the same comments about his, you know, _sluttiness_ and _penchant for debauchery_ that Rhodey does. But somewhere along the line Pepper had started constructing herself very carefully, presenting herself as a lot cooler than she really is, and Tony wonders sometimes how she really feels about the girls and the booze and the parties and all the stupid little things.

He can't really predict her, though. He's never been able to. And, really, it doesn't matter. He is a grown-ass adult. He can get drunk and fuck women if he wants to.

And yeah, he's pretty sure he _does_. Want to.

(Still, sometimes she gets this look in her eye that _steamrolls_ him. Flat to the goddamn ground. Her eyes aren't angry, necessarily, or sad, just so fiercely compassionate, almost as an offense. It's the most terrifying thing he's ever experienced. Her _emotion_, tangled and strangled as it is, bores down on him. And some masochistic part of Tony wants it to destroy him, burn him to the ground, leave him blazed and raw and new.

He'll never tell her that, though. Just like she'll never reveal how much it all really bothers her.)

* * *

"We should put a couch down here," she says one day, surveying the workshop, arms laden with a stack of thick files.

"Why?"

"So I have somewhere to sit while I'm bothering you."

"I know somewhere you could sit," he says, waggling his eyebrows and gestured towards his lap.

"I think I would get in the way of all the _really important tinkering_ you're doing." She opens a file. "Sign."

He does.

(The next day, she opens the front door and there are two delivery men with a massive sectional. Tony comes bounding up the steps and hollers "This way, boys!" and then shoots her a grin. Later, when she comes downstairs there is a sign taped to the middle of the seat with a bright red arrow that says _Pepper's ass here_. She sits directly on it with the flamboyance he deserves. He laughs wildly.)

* * *

It's the night of the anniversary of his parents' deaths, and he desperately wants Pepper.

It's been six May 18ths since he'd hired Pepper, and usually he just sends her to the office or back home on these days, and he stays in bed and clutches the sheets to maintain a grip on the world. It won't slide sideways if he just stays there and focuses very hard.

He doesn't know why, but this year he wants nothing but her. He did spend the beginning of the day trying to stop the earth from spinning, just like usual, but now he wanted _comfort_. In the form of Pepper Potts. He doesn't know what he wants from her; hell, she probably knows what he wants better than he does. But all he can think about is her. Ginger-haired and smart-mouthed and kind-eyed. She must know how this feels. There must be a day of the year that feels like this for her.

"JARVIS," he croaks.

"Sir?"

"When did Pepper's parents die?"

There is a pause of silence as JARVIS looks up the information and then an answer. "Michael Potts died of liver failure on January 11th, 1985. Miss Potts was eight years old. Laura Harper Potts committed suicide on November 3, 1991, when Miss Potts was fifteen."

So Pepper has two days. He hadn't remembered that. Nor had he known how her parents had died.

(It is terrible to think, probably. No, it is definitely terrible to think this. But at least his parents didn't _choose_ to die.)

"JARVIS, please ask her if she would mind coming over here," he says quietly.

(Of course she doesn't. She shows up half an hour later with a large pizza, extra cheese, extra everything. She asks him to sit up, but he's scared to. She shrugs off her coat, sits on the edge of the bed, and puts a hand on his shoulder. He sits up anyway. They put on _Casablanca_ and eat pizza in his bed. The grease soaks through the box onto his sheets, and he doesn't care, just kicks them onto the floor, but she insists they move. They go down to the living room and they get on the couch and he is deliriously grateful when she allows him to rest his head in her lap. He focuses on pretending not to hear her cry as he drifts off. He sleeps better than he has in years.)

* * *

Tony doesn't mean to be forgetful, but it's part of the whole_ absent-minded professor/super-hot playboy genius _thing he has going on. He rarely realizes his own birthday is coming up until it's tomorrow and he is asking Pepper to _just throw something together_. He spends enough time down in the workshop to lose track of days, so that when he goes in it's Saturday and when he comes out next it's Tuesday and he has missed another budget meeting, _goddammit._ He flies to Vegas to gamble for a few hours and ends up spending a week off the grid, crawling home hungover, black-eyed, and somehow even richer. Sometimes, he completely forgets the month of August. He assumes from July's end they'd move straight to September and ends up floundering for thirty-one days in the strangeness.

So yes. He rarely remembers Pepper's birthday. And really, what does she expect from a man who can't remember his own social security number?

Of course, this is the ninth birthday of hers since she was hired. He'd missed her thirtieth, and thirty-first. Now she's thirty-two today, very much acting like an adult. But he knows that little look in her eye, the spark that tells him she can't quite believe it either. So he pretends too.

"Already?" he says. But he's hidden her real present in a drawer in her desk upstairs. He knows she won't go up there for a while, preferring to get him out the door first before sitting in the living room and watching the morning news. He'll be halfway to Afghanistan before she realizes how wonderful he is.

(Months later, he remembers and asks about it, just sort of blurting it out. She's across the room from him putting her things away in an attempt to go home. She stops cold. She swallows hard and tells him that she didn't find it until after she got the call from Rhodey, after she came back to the house from her _plans_ to make sure that it wasn't a practical joke. She tells him that she searched the whole house for him, and then when she made it to her office she kicked the desk in frustration and heard the clunk. She tells him that when she saw it sitting there she cried and cried and cried.

And then she grabs her things and leaves without a word. Tony swallows hard. So much has changed.)

* * *

When he thinks about her, he feels ashamed.

Captivity is horrifying enough. So is building weapons for terrorists. But if he ever makes it out of here, he doesn't want to tell her what happened. That he's been responsible for killing so many people through his work. And that she's been an accessory to that.

Mostly he just hopes she forgives him. Whether he makes it out of here or not.

* * *

He's in an Israeli hospital for a few weeks before they let him come. About a million debriefs, from every government organization that could possibly be interested. He's pretty sure he's told the janitor the whole story too. His voice is hoarse, his head is pounding from the dehydration, and it takes him three days to ask about Obie and Pepper.

"I called them both as soon as we got you in the air, Tony."

He nods numbly. He can't imagine how those conversations went. "Are they happy?" he asks.

Rhodey frowns. "Of course they are, Tony. We all are. Everyone thought you were dead for three months."

"Somehow we've been selling _my weapons_ to _terrorists_," Tony says, voice laden with burden. "How can they not be upset about that?"

"They are, Tony. But they're just more relieved that you're alive."

Tony doesn't say anything to that. He doesn't know how to handle this.

"They want to talk to you, you know. Whenever you're…ready." And he says it like Tony's going to fall apart. Oh, no. Tony's never been so incensed, never so motivated towards a goal. Rage does that to a person.

Still. He doesn't know what to say to them.

"Pep first."

(Rhodey's dialed the number for him and told Pepper that he wanted to talk to her, so when Tony gets the phone in his hands he just says her name. She asks if he's okay. He palms the cold metal protecting his heart and says yes, sparing her the details. She asks if he wants anything. He just says he wants to go home. One day, he'll figure out a way to look her in the eye and tell her the whole story. But that's not today.)

* * *

After the red eyes and the cheeseburgers and the press conference, they go back to the mansion. Neither of them knows how to proceed. It's ten years ago, all over again.

So she gives him a tour.

"Living room, kitchen, dining room," she says. He smiles hopelessly at her. She looks so good.

She looks older, too (although not older than he feels), but that's understandable. A lot of very grown-up things have happened.

He faces her. "Did the 'bots miss me?" He turns the puppy dog eyes on her.

She smiles. "Oh, yes, very much so. JARVIS too. The cars…your tools…the couch downstairs." She moves closer to him during her list.

He ignores the impulse to touch her, but it's a muscle weakened by underuse. Apparently she feels the same way because she goes in for a hug. She freezes, though, dangling in the air, gauging his reaction, as though somehow he wouldn't want her to hug him. He will take just about any physical contact from her, at this point. Except a slap across the face.

Hell, even a slap across the face.

He finishes the job and pulls her close.

* * *

That balcony was strangely warm for a fall night. And he was thinking about so many other things. Still, he should have kissed her. If the events of the last few months have taught him anything, it's that he doesn't have time to waste.

Even so, he will have epic dreams about that dress.

* * *

Directly after the second disaster press conference in as many weeks, as Tony's being towed away and shoved into the car by Rhodey, he and Pepper have the following conversation via text, as (he imagines) she sighs, gathers her things from the office, sighs, sneaks out the back door, sighs, and climbs into her car. And sighs.

Pepper: _Can I be honest with you?_

Tony: _Sure._

Pepper: _I think you might be an idiot._

(He had meant it before. They should be together. He didn't say it in so many words, but he knows her well enough to know that she got the gist. The intrigue from the quasi-interview of ten years ago plus the physical attraction that followed not long after that plus the friendship that developed along the way and the comfort that had become near necessity. He thinks he's probably always known this; but every reaction needs a catalyst, and Afghanistan was it. She is all the motivation he needs and infinitely more.)

* * *

Mortality makes his lips loose. Things he hadn't realized were true until he said them are slipping through his lips like water through his fingers, and it would have been mortifying and maybe romantic if she had the time to hear any of it.

No. He's the one who doesn't have time to waste.

When JARVIS found the problem, when he first read his toxicity, his only reaction was a roll of the eyes (another thing he refuses to tell his therapist). _Of course_. Of course this is happening as well. That is the very basis of irony. He survives three months in a cave, several missions, and a fight to the death with his former father figure, all the while poisoning himself with the very device keeping him alive. How fucking poetic.

He wants to unlive the last few years and do them _better_. He wants to feel young again. Everything blurs. There's no way out.

Maybe he has grown up.

(He knows he has a funny way of showing it. He knows that getting hammered and destroying the house and toting Whatsherface around isn't necessarily adult or responsible. But he's only doing it because he's scared and trying desperately not to let it show. All he's hoped for since he got out of that hellhole is to feel like he's doing the right thing. He knows that with Pepper in charge he will be.)

* * *

He kisses the crap out of her. The night is perfect, cloudless and breezy. And there's nothing left to think about. He just saved the world. There's nothing left but her.

Honestly, he wouldn't have cared if she did say it was weird. It was a long time coming, anyway.

* * *

"So what you're telling me is, SHIELD is trying to start a super hero boy band?" She brings the laden spoon to her mouth.

This is the stupidest place to have this conversation. He's bought out a frozen yogurt store to satisfy her craving. Every wall and fixture is neon. Pop music is blaring too loudly into the emptiness. The teen staff gawks from a respectable distance. Tony wishes for some sunglasses.

"Very funny," he says. His cup is mostly hot fudge and gummy worms. "Remember Captain America?"

"No, but I'm sure my grandfather does."

He refrains from kissing the smirk off her face. They haven't gone public yet.

"The Hulk?"

She nods thoughtfully. "And Natalie/Natasha?"

"They call her Black Widow," he says.

"I can see why."

"Plus some other people, maybe. This is all top secret, by the way," he adds.

"I'll try and contain myself," she deadpans.

Then she looks thoughtfully down at her cup. "So are you going to join them?"

"I already told you – they don't want me."

"Sure they don't."

"They don't."

"You think Fury would really be all over you if he didn't want you? They just want _you_ to want it."

"Pepper, you're a genius."

She licks her spoon. "I know."

* * *

He's between her thighs. He rests a cheek on the flesh on one side.

"I want to live here," he says, sighing in contentment.

"You do live here," she says, arching an eyebrow. Indeed, they're in his bed.

"I meant _down here_," he says, tonguing a swipe of pink for punctuation.

Her laugh turns into a moan.

* * *

They've fallen into a particular routine over the last twelve years or so.

That routine includes her _answering her phone when he calls_.

"_Rude_, by the way," he tells her later. They've had Shawarma Part Two delivered to the hotel they took refuge in. "Imagine if I had _died_. And you would never have been able to hear my voice one last time."

"Oh my _god_," she groans, head in her hands. They've already done the tearful reunion part of the evening and have moved right on to stand-up comedy. "I said I was _sorry_."

"I was going to bare my soul to you and tell you how much I love you, but now, none of that! You're in the punishment chair!"

She dutifully sits where he points (which is just one seat closer to his). "_That's_ what you were going to tell me? I already know all of that!" she grumbles.

"Uh, no, you _don't_. Because I haven't said it before just now." Then he stops.

_He hadn't said it before just now._

His eyes swing to hers, wide and silent. She just rolls hers. "Don't freak out. The sky's already fallen down today; it won't fall down again just because you're hopelessly in love with me."

He coughs. "Right." He feels a little winded.

She takes a bite of her sandwich. "This is good," she says appreciatively.

"That's it?!" he wheezes.

"What?"

"Aren't you going to love me back?!"

She smiles, beatific. "Sure I am."

He will _not_ be bested. He takes her hand in his and turns on his smolder, going in for the kill. "I love you, Pepper Potts."

She makes that noise that people make when they see a kitten play with a sock. Tears spring to her eyes.

"_Ha_," he says. "I knew you weren't so tough."

"How?" she says, furiously sopping up the moisture.

"Well, for one thing, you have _freckles_."

She punches him in the arm. "Here, have another bruise, _Iron Man_."

It hurt like a bitch.

"I love it when you call me that."

"Shut up and eat your dinner."

"Yes, dear."

* * *

Then all of the _issues_ start.

They go back to Malibu, but it feels like he's breathing New York air. Until, of course, he's not, and there's nothing but cold, dead space (which sucks, he used to _love_ space) and he's drowning.

Although the Tony Stark Power of Putting Things Off is impressive, practically legendary, he can't fend off this attack. Everything's catching up to him. He used to move too fast for that.

His instinct, always, is to not tell her. To shield her from whatever reality is breaking over him. But this is a little too obvious to hide.

At first, the nightmares are just about him. They are so real, just him losing air, him fighting to keep his eyes open, him alone, with JARVIS crackling out, and then _falling_. That's how it starts anyway. Lately, the dreams are different. Now his parents are floating in space. And Obadiah too. And Rhodey. And Bruce. And Steve and Thor and Clint and Natasha. And Pepper. And they're all looking at him for an answer. He's dragged all of them down with him; he was trying to be selfless, sacrificing himself for the greater good but somehow they all end up there together. He was trying to protect them and now it is all his fault, oh _god_—

It is always Pepper's face last in the darkness, terrified and losing consciousness, that sends him careening over the edge. The emptiness of space pushes him around without a thought, the heartlessness of the universe; and it destroys him, how powerless he is to it all.

He has now built a suit for every possible scenario. Except for one. He still hasn't found a way around a vacuum.

* * *

As soon as he realizes what Killian has done to Pepper, he locks down. He focuses. He prioritizes.

Escape. Find Rhodey. Save the President. Save the entire _goddamn_ flight crew of Air Force One. Find Pepper. Save Pepper.

He has a little trouble with that last one.

When she falls, _when he fails her so completely, _the pain is an instantaneous and indescribable raze. He is overtaken with the anger and sadness of a black hole consuming.

(He doesn't have the time in that moment to wonder if this is how she felt _every single time_ he seemed to be dead. The three months in captivity. On the rooftop with the failing arc reactor. The perilousness of palladium poisoning. The attack that swept the house into the ocean.

He doesn't have time to think about it now. But he will later. For a long, long time later.)

* * *

The first thing he does is call Bruce.

No, the first thing he does is kiss her senseless. He takes the gauntlet she pilfered from one of the suits ("Little pent-up aggression towards the suits there, honey?") so one of his hands can touch her, and the other one fists his own t-shirt, but her lips lick flames over his. Oh well.

The second thing he does is call Bruce.

"You remember my girlfriend/CEO, Pepper Potts?"

"How could I forget? You kept going _on _and _on—_"

"Shut up, Dr. Banner. No time for banter."

"What's the matter?"

"She's gone a little…Hulk-y."

Pepper punches him in the arm. It hurts like a bitch.

"What did you do?"

"What do you—? _Nothing_. I didn't forget to put the toilet seat down, _goddammit_. I mean she was experimented on, and instead of turning into a giant green rage monster she turns into a fiery red ticking time bomb. Jesus Christ!"

"Oh. Uh. What do you want, tips on how to live with a genetic abomination?"

"I want you to get your ass over here, Chuckles, and bring your chemistry set, because we're going to stabilize this thing."

"Where?"

"What?"

"Where do you want me to meet you? New York or LA?"

Tony catches Pepper's eye and grips her now-cooled hand.

"New York. Meet us in New York."

* * *

When they get back to the city, Tony sees that it hasn't changed one iota – that the fight that occurred here was swallowed and absorbed and ignored and forgotten about, in the cavalier way that _this city_ handles catastrophe nowadays. They barely left a dent, and even if they had, New Yorkers know to pretty much expect it.

The sky doesn't change overhead. It does seem less and less menacing. In time, anyway.

They do manage to stabilize Extremis. It takes a few weeks, and Pepper tries to carry on with her work from the New York office, although really she does as much as she can from the Tower because Tony is loath to let her leave when it still seems like she could explode at any moment.

They explore the idea of purging it from her system completely. Bruce thinks they could do it with enough time. Tony has a better idea.

"But seriously, how did your bra not burn up?" His mouth is stuffed with lo mein, but he's still talking. "You fell into an exploded oil rig. Victoria's Secret now catering to superheroes?"

"I'm _not _a superhero," she says, grabbing an egg roll.

"Not with that attitude."

"I already have a job, Tony."

"So do I. This one's more fun."

"This is ridiculous. Bruce, tell Tony he's crazy."

"Tony, you are absolutely fucking crazy."

"I know!" he shouts, waving his chopsticks wildly. "I know that! But listen. You feel all heroic. People love you. You do good things. You stop bad people. Plus, you get to spend extra time with me, your delightful and charming lover."

He tries not to feel hurt when she snorts. "Yes, time I would spend _worrying about you_."

"You already spend that time worrying about me; this way, you'll actively participate in my safety! Plus you'll be indestructible, so I won't have to worry about you." Biggest lie _ever_. He will worry about her regardless.

"Tony—"

"Tell me Natasha didn't call you," he challenges.

And suddenly she looks a bit guilty. "Yes, she did. But this is insane, Tony."

"Bruce, tell Pepper that she would make an excellent Avenger."

"Pepper, you would make an absolutely sublime Avenger. Definitely a better Avenger than Tony."

Tony doesn't even bother denying it. "Just keep thinking about it. Please?"

She rolls her eyes. But she doesn't say no.

* * *

"_Honey_!" he hollers at top volume as he bounds up the stairs. "_I built you a supersuit!"_

After a moment, he hears the panicked click-clack of Pepper's heels.

"You built me what, now?" she says once she finds him, eyes widening.

"I built you an Iron Man suit. Just like mine, but with room for _boobs_!" He's near-squealing with excitement.

This might be the first time in their thirteen-year relationship that he has left her completely speechless. And she was present for the spectacle that was Cabo '03.

(And there's nothing she can do but follow him back down the stairs and look at the matching suits he's created. A labor of love, he insists.)

* * *

The Avengers come back one by one.

Bruce just sort of…sticks around. Tony doesn't ask him if he wants to leave and Bruce doesn't ask if he is meant to go. On Thursday nights he cooks.

Clint comes after a month post-Extremis. He merely says he feels bad leaving them with Bruce as the sole chef. He cooks on Fridays. And it only takes Tony a week or two to get over his own "making a nest here" jokes.

Natasha comes soon after, with some bullshit story about how she's back in New York on SHIELD business and her apartment has been compromised. She doesn't ask to stay. She tells.

Thor comes back seeking comfort. They endeavor to help him forget his Asgardian troubles. Tony races him – the suit against Mjolnir. Natasha teaches him Midgardian card games, and soon they're all betting. Bruce takes him to Central Park to people-watch. It all works as well as it can. Slowly, he seems better.

Lastly, the great Captain America. It takes him a few months after the rest of them; but, looking war-torn and exhausted, he returns. He says its time they started working together permanently. None of this solo-flying business. Tony plays the "Did you miss me?" game for a solid hour after Cap first shows his face. "Just seeing if your patience grew while you were on vacation."

Cap, in a surprising show of millennial attitude and apathy, snorts.

And suddenly the team is back together.

(And Pepper is more than pleased.)

* * *

It ends up being JARVIS that reminds them.

They're lying in bed. It's still early, but Pepper has a meeting in a few hours and Tony promised Dr. I-Don't-Need-Very-Much-Sleep they'd start running trials on some new tech they are working on for Black Widow. JARVIS runs through the weather and their schedules (hers, jam-packed; his, mildly amusing) before mentioning that today is the fifteen-year anniversary of the day they met.

Tony, who was running his hand lazily up and down Pepper's thigh, stops cold. His eyes meet hers. She looks about the same as he feels.

"Fifteen _years_?" she says, incredulous.

There's a pregnant pause to look for meaning in that ridiculous statement, and then they both start laughing.

"How did we do that?" he asks.

"I have no idea," she grins. Her hair is a mess of leftover curls and static cling. Her neck is red from his own scruffy nuzzling. She's wearing his old t-shirt. She is perfect.

"Yeah, well," he says. "I think we could do another forty to fifty years." And then he burrows half his face into the pillow to hide.

There's no need to, though. "Oh, at least," she says.

(And they do.)


End file.
